The Interviews
by Azecreth
Summary: The mind of a serial killer is a dangerous place, as Sayaka was about to discover. And still she made the plunge, for the sake of thoroughness. Perhaps she'd made a mistake, but there was no turning back now.


**A/N: So, another story. I must hate myself or something. This is definitely an experiment of sorts into different writing styles on my part, so I apologize if it's terrible. Also, rating may be subject to change depending on how visceral I want to get.**

**Credit to A Nutcracker's Padded Cell, by Timmy Sparx for this story. Even if his story is incredibly different from mine.**

**Feel free to comment or complain, and let me know how bad this is, or if I'm just being my own worst critic.**

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><p>I remember our first meeting well. It was Wednesday, near noon. Springtime in the city of Mitakihara. A nice day, and one I'd prefer to spend outside relaxing, rather than the task I had to do that particular day. But I had a job to do, and I was not one to shirk responsibility. Most of the time anyway.<p>

The name is Sayaka Miki, investigative reporter for the _Mitakihara Star_. Not what I expected to be doing with my life, but it's a good job. Flexible hours, travel points at hotels, even if there are annoying deadlines. I'd always had a penchant for truth, justice, the kind of stuff you'd see a shounen manga protagonist spouting, ever since I was little. I'd thought about bring a cop and going into law enforcement, but in the end I settled for journalism, where I could draw the publics attention to problems and promote action.

At that specific time though, I was on assignment. I'd been able to choose my topic for once, and this one had been an easy selection. It didn't involve corruption, or the government, or poverty. Nah, this was something a lot more interesting.

It was a bit of a trip, I will admit, to get to my subject of investigation, but that was all the better. It gave me time to plan ahead as I drove towards this meeting. I had done some preliminary research, and it was a well known case, but I wanted to go in with an open mind. If there was one thing that had been hammered into me, it was that I couldn't be biased. Which, needless to say, was difficult, given my line of work and personality, but I tried.

Emphasis on the tried part. When dealing with slimy politicians and lowlife criminals, it kinda gets to you. But I can rightfully say that some of my greatest work has been done in fits of righteous indignation. Nothing like a dash of vitriol to really accentuate a piece. Not that my editor agrees all that much.

Anyways, that's enough about my career for now. Essentially, a major bust against a construction company cutting corners when it came to workplace safety so they could turn more of a profit had given me the opportunity to pursue a story of my own choosing. And you had better believe that I was going to take it.

After battling traffic through the city, with no small amount of anger directed at general humanity represented by idiots driving motor vehicles, I arrived at my destination, the North Shinkaru Mental Institute for the Criminally Insane, a pretty long and fancy name for what was essentially the loony bin. And surprisingly, I was there to meet with a patient, and not to investigate the staff, or even to try and get myself admitted. I know, weird. But I had a good reason.

Pulling into the parking lot, I chose a spot near the entrance and stopped the car there. I took a moment to check my appearance, short blue hair, suit, very much the dashing, crusading reporter. I nodded to myself, then picked up my satchel bag and left the car, locking it behind me before I headed inside the building.

The front lobby was remarkably mundane for the stuff that went on inside. Chairs, pale yellow walls, a single entryway, there wasn't much that gave off an impression of homeliness. Then again, they probably had their budget to worry about, and they weren't there to cater to visitors. As one might figure out from the current lack of visitors besides me. But each detail I noted with a careful eye.

Guessing that there was no wait, I strode forward and right up to the front desk. "Sayaka Miki," I told the man working there, presenting my ID at the same time. "I called earlier about a meeting with one of the inmates."

The man sighed as he straightened up, turning to the documents that laid in front of him. I waited with my time tested patience as he looked through them, shifting his gaze between that and my ID. Apparently he wasn't hired for his efficiency.

At last though he seemed satisfied with the fact that I was who I said I was, and good riddance to that. "Okay. Just sign here please," he replied as he handed across a sign in sheet and a pen, wearing an ambivalent expression.

With a slight huff, I took it and signed on the line, and dated it, with minimal fuss and hassle to be had. He watched me with disinterest, and accepted it once I passed the sheet and writing implement back. That was followed by him looking it over to confirm that I'd filled everything out correctly, which apparently was that difficult for some people.

"Alright, everything seems to be in order," he said, pointing out the obvious. "I'll let them know you're here."

"Well good," I replied, hand resting on my hip. "I don't want to spend more time on this than I have to."

He didn't answer that from behind the reinforced glass window, giving me a look of apparent exasperation, before picking up the phone on his desk. "Sir, I have a Sayaka Miki here. Could you get her guest ready?"

As you might have guessed by now, dealing with bureaucracy isn't my thing. That was a reason against my joining law enforcement, since they have a lot of paperwork to deal with, or so I'm told. Suffice to say, it was a test to just stand there as he conversed with his superiors. Yeah, I know they have their own issues, such as liability and all that, but that doesn't make it any less boring.

Eventually they worked out whatever they needed to, and the man left the booth he was seated in, someone quickly taking his place as a buzz filled the room and the lock on the nearby door disengaged. I moved over to it as he swung the metal barrier open, allowing me to enter the facility. "Right this way," he said, leading me further into the building.

My nervous anticipation grew as we walked along through concrete halls, each step taking me closer to my meeting. Not that I particularly wanted to meet anyone here, but good stories weren't made by what I wanted. The general atmosphere of the place wasn't helping my desire, but I shrugged it off and persevered. I'd seen worse.

The man, brown hair, blue shirt, black pants, a belt on which keys were attached, looked over his shoulder at me as we went along. "Don't know why you'd want to see the Death Hostess," he commented as we rounded another corner. "I doubt she'll give you anything interesting."

"I'll worry about that myself, if you don't mind," I replied confidently, advancing past other guards and employees that were going about their own business. I didn't need someone to tell me what my odds of success were. I'd had enough of that over the years to last me a lifetime.

He shrugged then and let the matter drop, which was good timing as it turned out, since I found myself distracted by my surroundings. Muffled by metal doors in containment, I could hear rambling, singing, the sounds of broken minds, of the insane. And if I looked, I could see those people, with visual tics, drawing scribbles, jittery limbs, people locked in rooms. Then again, given where I was, this shouldn't really have been a surprise.

It definitely stirred some sympathy from me, but at the same time I had to remember that not all of hem deserved it. There were criminals in here who had done horrible things, and they didn't deserve any sympathy for their current state. Sure, maybe I was being a bit judgmental since I couldn't empathize with their plight as a sane, rational, non-murdering and productive member of society, but that was just how it went. Besides, seeing and hearing it all was starting to creep me out.

At last we arrived at our destination inside, some sort of small cafeteria which provided a bit of space. Tables were laid out in rows, but the room was otherwise empty. Looking up above, I could see guards on an overlooking balcony, watching the area in their lines of sight. For my part, I only hoped that they were more attentive than the guy working up front had been. I didn't want to tempt fate with a psycho.

"Please sit here, it should only be a few more moments." With that my guide departed, leaving me alone. Placing my bag off to the side, I did as he said and sat down to wait. It was a boring interlude, but at least I didn't have to listen to raving lunatics if I didn't make the effort to. It gave me the time I needed to compose my thoughts for this interview, to get informative answers from my subject any way possible.

It was only a few minutes later, as he had said it would be, that there was another buzz, the sound of a lock disengaging, and I looked over to the side to see one of the metal doors swinging open, admitting an inmate and two guards. I shifted in my seat, and my breath caught as I got my first sight of her, recognition near immediate.

Short blond hair hung down as she walked forward, nearly swaying on her feet, limbs wrapped in the restraining white fabric of a straitjacket, which didn't help her appearance. Surprisingly, at least to me, she wore a pleasant smile, and there was no aura of insanity like I'd expected. Then again, appearances could be deceiving. They were, in fact, or she probably wouldn't be here.

Serial killer Mami Tomoe, aka the 'Death Hostess', known for a string of murders in Mitakihara several months ago. It had only been a slip up on her part that had resulted in her being caught, where they had sent her here as the result of a successful insanity plea. At this point, authorities weren't even sure that they'd found everyone she had killed.

I stood then, as she crossed the distance between the door and me, with guards escorting. "Hello."

"Hello," Mami replied, bowing in the process. "You must be Sayaka Miki. It's a pleasure to meet you in person."

I wouldn't say it was a pleasure on my part, since it wasn't, but I wasn't going to tell her that. Instead, I sat down, and with a gesture, Mami did the same, the guards behind her backing off to give us a bit of privacy. "My apologies for not shaking your hand, but I've been forced to wear this ever since I stabbed my therapist in the eye with his pencil."

Okay, I will admit, I was caught off guard by the way she said that with such a straight face, and it showed as I stared at her. Not exactly the kind of thing you want to hear, even if it's from a serial killer psycho. I could only hope the poor guy was alright. "It's fine," I replied at last, looking away.

Then, as if to accentuate how many screws she had loose, she laughed. Well, chuckled actually, but you get the point. "Don't worry. If you knew him like I did then you'd agree that I was doing the world a favor."

"Somehow I doubt that," I muttered under my breath, not about to argue with the crazy lady. That'd be a waste of time, and I wanted to keep from antagonizing her. That would be a quick way to end the interview, and I also wanted to be able to sleep later.

Leaving aside the discussion of pointless stabbings, I pulled a notebook from my bag and placed it on the table, so I could write down notes, and a pen, which I deliberately kept as far away from Mami as possible, for my own peace of mind. "So, to start, I'm going to go over some basic facts. Tell me if I got something wrong."

Mami nodded, and I took that as a sign to continue. "Name, Mami Tomoe. Age, 25. Only child, lived in Mitakihara your whole life. Both parents deceased, college drop out."

I glanced up, and she nodded. "Yes, that's correct."

"Upper middle class financially, no record of criminal activity before...well, you know. Good regard from your peers before, again,...you know."

"It's okay, you can say the word 'murder'," Mami interrupted. "I'm not going to bite your head off. And I doubt the guards would let me get that far." She glanced over her shoulder at the armed men, who didn't respond to her verbal prompt. Good on them.

"Right..." As I finished, I prepared to write. "So tell me, how does a well off person like you become a homicidal maniac?"

A sigh escaped then, rising over the sound of shifting fabric as she attempted to move the sleeves of her straitjacket. "You don't ask an easy question," Mami noted. "Though your statement also implies that I'm insane, which is far from the case. I was fully aware of what I did at the time I did it, before, during, and afterwards."

That was an intriguing look into her thought process, which I noted as an eyebrow rose in a visible expression of that. "So why the insanity defense then? If you're not actually insane."

It was easy to pick out the rise in the corners of her mouth as she answered that question. "Because I prefer being alive to being dead. Even if being in here consigns me to a meaningless existence, it's better than what must come after, if there is anything."

"I see," I replied as I wrote that tidbit down. Some insight into the way her twisted mind worked? Definitely. But I would need more I could draw any conclusions there. "So why then? Why kill those people?"

"A long time ago there was a little girl," she said, tone almost singsong in intonation. "One day, she broke. But no one noticed. So eventually, she decided to make them notice. And I did. You can't argue with that." Prefaced by a shrug, I got the impression that I wasn't going to get a real answer. But it never hurt to try.

And given the media spectacle involved with the whole thing, no, I couldn't argue. "Let me guess, that was when your parents died?' Car crash, tragic. You'd wonder why no one ever considered a therapist or something before she got to the brutal murder stage.

"If you say so," she replied in an almost coy manner, yet dismissive at the same time.

I showed my opinion in an attempt at a piercing look that deflected right off her exterior, before going on. "After dropping out of college you worked at a tea shop, where your boss said you were a model employee. And yet you also killed your first victims with poisoned tea. Why? Seems like a good way to draw attention to yourself."

The pleasant smile she had been wearing endured as she answered me without hesitation, like she was discussing the weather. "It reminded me of an earlier time, and killing people is a lot easier when they don't have a chance to try and run, or fight back. And at least I gave them a peaceful death, like falling asleep and never waking up."

I couldn't help but glare at her then, pausing while in the middle of writing things down, much as I might not want to. "Good to know that killing people reminded you of your childhood."

"I never said it did. You really shouldn't leap to conclusions Ms. Miki. Isn't that a rule of your profession?"

I suppressed a growl, or any unfavorable reaction beyond a more forceful scribbling with my pen, to deal with my temper. "Yes, it is," I confirmed, not happy at the moment. "Anyway, how do you go from poison to carving holes in people's chests? Was it not bloody enough for you?"

"Poison just wasn't visual enough. I wanted to leave more of a mark," Mami said with a slight giggle. "As a firebrand reporter, I'm sure you understand that desire."

If I hadn't been getting red flags before, I most definitely was now. Her comparing what she did to my own profession was more than enough to reaffirm that she was nuts. A part of me wanted to call it quits right then and there, but my rational side kept me seated. I had to see this to the end, for posterity, and my own ego, though not necessarily for my sanity. But such was the price of thoroughness.

"I prefer to leave a lot less blood when I make a point. Just my own opinion. Hope it's not a problem."

"Of course not. To each their own. Sadly, I won't be making any more marks from inside these walls." Yeah, a real shame there, I noted to myself with wordless sarcasm as I wrote it down regardless. A languid sigh came out then. "Any other questions or comments on my life preceding my incarceration here? I could provide you details on how each exploit went. There are a few that I'm quite proud of, veritable works of art. It'd be tragic to let that be lost."

I repressed a shiver at the mix of satisfaction and my own imagination. No way was I going to sit here listening to her describe how she had killed people in detail. There were some things even I didn't need to know, at least at the time. "No thanks. Though, you wouldn't happen to have any other bodies lying around that the cops might have missed, would you?"

Mami hummed in thought, head tilted, and I waited patiently for the response. "Perhaps," she eventually concluded, much to my dissatisfaction. "I didn't keep a list. But I suppose they did." Her smile widened then. "We'll just have to wait and see."

That, as you might guess, was not encouraging, but at this point I had no choice but to believe her. So, onwards I went. "Okay then. I'm also going to assume that means you don't regret it."

"My only regret is getting caught. It would have meant more time for my work, to get my message across to the people."

"There was a message," I asked skeptically and incredulously. Far be it for me to see a message in a bunch of mutilated corpses, but then again I didn't have her brand of lunacy.

She got a glimmer in her eye as she smirked. "If you can't see the message, then it wasn't intended for you."

That led to a natural follow up on my part, with aggravation under control, at least for the moment. "And who was it intended for?"

Her smirk didn't lessen, and it seemed that I would get nothing useful. "That's for me to know, and I don't feel like sharing at the moment," she replied cryptically.

A grunt issued forth in exchange for a growl, as I registered that answer, the one I probably should have expected. It seemed that I would need to plan a return visit or something like that. Especially if she was going to try and hold out or play games with me.

At the time, I did consider the thought that this was Mami's intent, to spoon feed me information and otherwise mess with me so she'd have something to do. I mean, it was so obvious a ploy even I couldn't miss it, and I'm not known for my subtlety. But as it was, I had to go along with it if I wanted my story to be top quality. Some day, you people will appreciate the sacrifices I've made in the name of journalism.

Anyway, I was forced to accept that, lacking any other options. "Alright then." I took a moment to look back over my notes and get a sense of the conversation thus far, before going on. "Now, how'd you manage to dodge social services? After your parents died, I mean." That would probably have prevented a lot of problems if it had happened.

"My uncle looked after me for a bit. After that, I suppose we can just blame the system for that." that was not too comforting, though it wasn't exactly unusual either. I'd seen as much in my earlier work, and I gave a quick thought to the multitude of people like Mami there might be out there, before returning to the matter at hand.

"Alright," I replied, writing that down and resolving to look into that later.

That basically exhausted my major questions, the ones that I had, and while I did ask a few more things, there was nothing of true consequence that was said. I'd still have to come back for a follow up visit, but on the while I was decently satisfied with how things went, besides Mami's efforts to creep me out.

"Well, that's that," I concluded as I began to pack up. "Thanks for the help and all." Such as it was. I was still convinced that she was a nut, but at least she was willing to talk to me, so that was a plus.

"Of course," she replied as she rose from her seat, smile unwavering. "I don't have much else to do. And it's nice to have someone listen to me for once. At least, someone here of their own free will." She winked, a gesture I ignored.

I stayed where I was as the guards approached once more, leading Mami Tomoe back to whatever padded room they had her locked away in. And I was shedding no tears as she departed. She deserved it after all.

A minute or so later, another attendant showed up to lead me out of the cafeteria and back up front, along the path we had taken before to get there in the first place. "I hope she behaved herself," he said as we went along. "She's caused trouble before, and we don't want it happening again."

I nodded as I walked along. "She did. But she's totally crazy."

"Don't have to tell me twice," he snorted. "She's like a spider or something. All smiles and acting nice, and at the same time she's describing what she'd like to do to you if she weren't locked up, or talking with one of her victims. Creepy as hell."

"Yeah," I agreed without a second thought. I could easily see that, and I was glad that I did not have to be that guy, since it seemed like his job sucked.

Back at the entrance to the building, I considered setting up another appointment while I was here, but decided against it. I needed some time to organize my thoughts and subjects, what I had learned and what I still needed to learn if my story were to be up to my standards. So I'd do that later. It wasn't like I was in a rush or anything.

"Have a nice day," the attendant said from behind his desk as I passed through the metal door and into the front lobby. It was just as empty as before, even with the time that had passed while I was in there.

"Yeah, thanks," I called back over my shoulder before leaving with all due haste. I'd done what I came to do, and there was no reason to stick around longer than necessary.

It was a quick walk back to my blue sports car in the parking lot, right where I had left it. Bag placed once more in the passengers seat, I started the engine, pulled out, and began the drive back to my apartment. I lived downtown, where it was easier to commute, and I didn't have to deal with the hassle of taking care of an entire house in addition to all the traveling I do.

En route, my phone rang, an unexpected call that I wouldn't refuse once I saw who it was on the line. I tabbed the 'receive call' button on the dashboard, already smiling as I spoke. "Hey Kyosuke, how's it going?"

"Hi Sayaka," he replied, the sound of musical instruments warming up threatening to overwhelm him in the background. "I'm doing alright. Is this a bad time?"

"Nah. Just got done with an interview for a story, so I'm all yours. What is it?"

Speaking above his musical companions, he relayed some news that made my smile all the wider, my recent experience forgotten for the moment. "Oh, well, I just thought you should know that I'm going to be in town for a break between tours in a week or so. Figured we could do something in the meanwhile."

That I did, and wanted to. The two of us had had an on-again off-again relationship for a while to that point, but I didn't mind. He was busy with his music, I with my work, and I'd moved past the insatiable, forlorn crush that had defined my early relationship with him. I wasn't sure if there would be a ring in the future, but at that moment just getting the chance to see him would be worth it.

"That's great. I'll clear my schedule," I replied, hoping my excitement wasn't too evident over the phone. "Good luck at your concert. We can talk more later."

"Right." I couldn't speak for my own emotions, but I could sense the relief in his tone, and I sighed aloud, figuring the noise on his end would mask it. I swear, sometimes I think he's more in love with his violin than h ever could be with a woman. "Talk to you later. Bye."

"Bye," I answered in turn, before the sound of someone else talking, presumably another member of the orchestra, made itself heard and the line went dead. Grinning, I shook my head at my hopeless friend, and made a mental note to clear my calendar when Kyosuke would be in town. Work could wait.

Upon arriving at my apartment, I placed my bag off to the side and took my shoes off before getting to work reviewing notes and planning out my follow up interview. It hadn't been difficult thus far, and I'd made good progress, but I had to be careful. She was going to try and mess with me, and I would be ready for it when it happened. I also sent a report off to my editor to indicate my progress at the same time.

Little did I know, the rabbit hole I'd started down went a lot deeper than I thought. And this mystery would not be easily solved. But nonetheless, I made the plunge. Only time would tell where I ended up.


End file.
